


reached for the stars (those stars don't reach back)

by hollow_city



Series: constant game of falling short [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5 Times, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Not Canon Compliant, References to Depression, blink and you miss it birdflash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-07 05:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14664390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollow_city/pseuds/hollow_city
Summary: keith kogane-wayne's family thinks he's dead. he's not.[or: five times they missed each other and one time someone realized they didn't have to.]





	reached for the stars (those stars don't reach back)

**Author's Note:**

> oh my fuck. this took so long. i am so sorry. i've had a real shitty go of things for weeks, so for once in my life, i prioritized and put this aside until i could do it right. and yeah, maybe i used the same format as the first part, but who's gonna stop me?
> 
> want to be even sadder while reading this? i listened to [these](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xniFpZYxYBo) [songs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uk-VJO_RzDE) while writing it, feel free to listen to them while you read.

It's been two weeks. 

It's been fourteen whole days since the Garrison called and Bruce's world came crashing down on top of him. Fourteen whole days since his children went from six to five. 

"He had too many kids anyway. What was the brat good for anyway?" he had heard a woman say on a morning talk show. He hadn't meant to hear it.

Bruce had to buy a new TV when Jason launched the remote straight into the screen immediately after. 

And now it's a Friday night and Bruce feels like a hole has been torn in his chest. 

Friday nights were Keith's night. Before he applied to the Garrison, that was the one night Keith would join them. Whether it was putting on the black and red suit they made for him or manning the comms, he was always with them. When he left for the Garrison, Friday nights were for family Skype calls. 

Bruce always attended because he had screwed up enough things with his family. He wasn't going to mess this one up. He would drop any case to talk to his son.

Dick would try his best to attend every week, but living in Bludhaven made it a bit more difficult. If he missed it, he would make sure to get there extra early for the next one. Sometimes he would bring along Wally, who had grown quite fond of Keith after that one dinner years before.

When Jason first came back, it took him the better part of two months to be comfortable enough to show up. But even when he did, he would show up late and stick to the back. As time passed, he'd come earlier and stay longer. Keith would smile when Jason decided to stay for the whole thing, which was just incentive enough for him to stay. 

Tim was almost always there. Sometimes he would sleep right through it, feel incredibly guilty the next morning, and call Keith over and over until he picked up, no matter the time. He would often forget the difference in time zones and Keith would give him endless grief for it. 

Damian was there every week, ten o'clock EDT, seven o'clock MST. He would never admit it, especially not to Bruce, but he looked up to Keith. He admired him like he had once admired Bruce, but he would never tell anyone that. The only one that couldn't see it was Keith. 

At the very end, before things fell apart, Cass joined the family, and she quickly became Keith's favorite without even having met her in person. They got along even better than Keith and Damian did. Bruce never had a doubt in the world that the two of them together could burn the world down. 

Sometimes on Keith's side, Shiro would join in. Sometimes it was Matt. Sometimes it was both. 

(Keith's family learned many an embarrassing story from them, much to Keith's dismay.)

The video calls happened every week that it was physically possible, up until Keith's death.

And now it's been two Fridays without him. Two Fridays with complete silence. Bruce doesn't step into his office once. He completely avoids the hallway if he can help it. 

Bruce takes a deep breath to steady his arm as he slams his fist into a robber's face. He strings her up and leaves her for the police, angry and spitting. 

He can hear Oracle's voice in his ear and he can't make out her words but he can hear the lump in her throat.

It's the second Friday without Keith in her ear. 

"Oracle," he cuts her off, his voice less gravelly than usual. He's just too tired. He leans against the gargoyle beside him and lets out a long, slow breath. 

"Batman," Oracle replies. Her voice is low, the way it is when she's holding back her emotions. 

"Patrol is over," he tells her quietly. "I'm heading back."

Babs is silent for a moment. Finally, she says, "okay. I'll let Agent A know."

Bruce stares off at the dark skyline for a few minutes, some sick and twisted part of his brain telling him that the sooner he gets home, the sooner he gets to call Keith.

But he can't. He doesn't get to do that anymore. 

Keith trespassed on government property and Lance McClain failed a test flight. 

Bruce knows he isn't the only one suffering. Lance McClain's family. Hunk Garrett's family. Pidge Gunderson's family. 

They're suffering, too. But it doesn't make Bruce's chest hurt any less.

He breathes through the tightness gripping his lungs as he travels over the rooftops toward an empty manor and an offline Skype account. 

-

  
"Jason, you have to get out of bed."

The lump under the mountain of blankets doesn't move a muscle. The room is silent for several moments, the only sound the leaking sink in the kitchen across the apartment. 

"It has been four days, Jason," Kori says quietly. "You cannot stay here."

The lump twitches. 

"Go away. I'm not home."

Roy looks over at Kori, his eyes sad. They want to feel exasperated at their friend, but they can't be. They watch the news. They've read the headlines. It was everywhere for a few days before disappearing as new, more interesting things happened. 

Kori sits down on the edge of the bed and reaches up to pull the covers down. Jason puts up a fight, but Kori is stronger, and with a frown, she pulls it down to his shoulders. Her stomach drops and she lets out a slow breath at the sight of the blank face that stares up at her. 

Jason is an absolute mess.

His hair is all over the place and greasy like he hasn't washed it in days. The red roots are showing like he forgot to redye them. His eyes are red and empty like he hasn't slept in days. His lips are chapped and red like he's been biting them nonstop. There are stains on his temples like he's been crying and all of the tears fell that way.

Kori has no doubt about what has been happening with Jason in the past few days. 

"Why are you here?" Jason asks. His voice is raspy and flat. 

Roy sits down on his other side, his eyebrows furrowed. 

"We're here because we've had nothin' but radio silence from you for days," he tells him. "Sue us for being worried."

Jason looks back and forth between his teammates a few more times before pushing himself up into a sitting position. The blankets pool at his waist, revealing the gray material of his t-shirt and the orange logo on the right side of his chest. 

Kori bites her lip at the sight of it. Because it's the Garrison t-shirt Keith had brought back home for him once. 

_"Come on, Keithy-Boy,"_ he had said, grinning. _"You've gotta give me something. I gotta rep my genius baby brother."_

Kori reaches out to rest her hand on Jason's shoulder. The muscles beneath her fingers tense immediately but slowly begin to relax. He glances over at her, blinking a few times. 

"Are you okay, Jason?" she asks softly. She can't imagine he would be, not after what's happened. 

Jason looks past her and out the door into the living room.

"Yeah," he says, but he sounds completely detached. 

"Dude, you don't have to say that," Roy says, crossing his arms. "You don't have to be okay."

Jason's face twitches. "You think I don't _know that?"_

The first shred of emotion they've seen the whole visit bleeds through. He almost sneers but seems to not have the energy for it, and his face falls flat again. He curls in on himself and sighs. 

"I haven't even gone to see 'im yet," Jason says quietly. "It's been three weeks and I haven't even gone to see him." 

Roy bites his lip and glances over Jason's head to make eye contact with Kori. He contemplates for a moment. 

"That's fine," he tells him. "But if you wanna go, we'll go with you."

Jason doesn't say anything for a moment, picking absently at a loose thread on the hem of his shirt. When he looks up, his face has completely crumbled. 

"Really?" he asks quietly. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he finally speaks again. "I... wanna go today. You don't have to come."

"Would you like us to?" Kori asks, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. She doesn't comment on the greasy, stringy feeling.

Jason shrugs. "If you're not busy, or something."

Roy snorts and slaps him on the back before standing. "Are we ever?"

Kori doesn't disagree. "We will accompany you. We will leave you so you may shower and I will make you something to eat before you go. How long has it been since you have eaten?"

Jason rolls out of bed and stumbles to his feet, the tips of his ears red. "'s been... only a couple of days."

Roy rolls his eyes. " _Only_. Get your ass in the shower."

"Jesus, fine."

Kori offers one last weak smile before heading for the kitchen. Once she's far enough, Roy leans over Jason's shoulder.

"I'll keep her away from the stove, don't worry," he jokes, but his grin weakens when he sees the look on Jason's face. "Talk to me."

Jason sits heavily on the edge of the bed, staring down at his socks. Roy follows close behind, sitting close enough that their thighs touch. 

"He was supposed to be safe," Jason tells him. "He got out of this shithole and he was gonna go places. To fucking  _space_."

Roy doesn't know what to say, so he waits and hopes Jason will continue.

He does. "He was smart and he figured out that this shit, the shit we do? You never get out of it." His voice lowers. "And even that wasn't enough."

Something in Roy's chest aches. He hates to see Jason in so much pain, and he wants to help, but he misses the kid, too. He didn't see Keith too often, but he'd met him several times, and he thought the kid was pretty great.

"He'd hate you for this," Roy says. It's probably not the best way to comfort him, but it seems to work because a wet laugh escapes. 

"He would," Jason laughs. He takes a shuddering breath, drags the backs of his hands across his face and stands. "Ugh. Alright. Get the fuck outta here before Kori burns my apartment building to the ground."

Roy smiles. "You got it."

He helps Kori put together a mediocre sandwich, helps Jason choose the type of flower to bring, and watches silently as Jason sits in front of the gravestone and talks to his little brother.

-

Damian had sat down to paint something forty minutes ago, and his canvas is still blank.

He can't think of anything and he doesn't know what's wrong with him. It shouldn't be this hard for him; it's never been this hard before. He's not sure why he even wanted to paint anything in the first place. The art supplies that overtake the corner of his room have sat untouched for the past three weeks. He hasn't sketched, drawn, painted, sculpted anything in three weeks, for no particular reason. There's nothing wrong with him, he just hasn't had the time.

Damian sighs quietly, closing his eyes briefly to refocus himself. He counts the things he can hear until he reaches twenty and opens his eyes again. His heart rate is significantly lower than it was, but he still has nothing. The canvas remains blank. 

His phone vibrates on his bedside table, making his hand twitch. He chooses to ignore it the first time it goes off and glances out the window. The yard is in full bloom, and Damian supposes maybe he could just do another landscape scene. They've always turned out well before. 

His phone vibrates again. Damian scowls. He ignores it again. He doesn't have time for unintelligent conversations with anyone. 

The pencil in his hand feels much heavier than it is and his fingers clench tightly around it. He swallows hard and forces himself to start a rough sketch on the canvas. He's not sure what he's doing, but his fingers move and his eraser scratches against the surface. 

It isn't until he's halfway done with the rough sketch that he becomes aware of what he's drawing. 

It's Keith. Keith's face. 

Something sparks in his mind and suddenly it's several months ago. A computer balanced on the edge of his bed and lights sparkling above him and a canvas filled edge to edge. 

_"Stop moving!" he snapped. "You are an awful model."_

_"Thanks," Keith replied dryly. "Don't worry, there's nothing else I'm supposed to be doing right now."_

_Damian scowled. "Silence. I need to finish your mouth and I can't very well get it right if you continue to run it."_

_Keith only smirked and said, "fine. Tell me about patrol last night, then."_

"Master Damian."

Damian doesn't jump. He hadn't heard the feet approaching, but he stops himself from flinching. The pencil in his fingers does drop and hit the floor, rolling across the wood until it comes to a stop underneath his bed.

"Pennyworth," Damian replies flatly. 

"I have," the butler begins, but when he sees the canvas sitting in front of Damian, his voice falters and he takes a moment to clear his throat. "I have prepared lunch."

Damian nods dumbly, glancing back and forth between the sketch and Pennyworth. The man doesn't move, instead staring at the canvas. 

Damian finally speaks up. "He _will_ be back, won't he?"

It snaps Pennyworth out of his stupor, but he doesn't say anything for a moment. After the moment has passed, he moves to sit down beside Damian on the edge of the bed, resting a hand on his shoulder. 

"Why would you ask such a question?" he asks, his voice quiet. 

Damian frowns. "Todd came back. Father came back. Grayson came back. Kogane should be back soon."

He speaks with a certain kind of determination like he truly believes it, because he really wants to. 

Pennyworth smiles, but it's sad and nostalgic and Damian doesn't like it at all. 

"I believe it would be wise to prepare yourself, Master Damian," he tells him.

"What for?"

"Master Keith may never return," Pennyworth says, and his voice turns up at the end, like it hurts him to say it. "You should be ready for that."

Damian's fists clench in his lap and he refuses to look up because that can't be right. Pennyworth is lying to him. His brother is supposed to come back. 

But while he may be hopeful, Damian isn't stupid.

He looks up at the unfinished sketch of Keith and cries, because it's the only thing he has left. 

-

The twenty-third of October.

Pidge managed to calibrate their phone to Earth time, and according to the calendar, it is October twenty-third on Earth. The day doesn't mean much of anything to the others, but it means something to Keith, because it's his birthday. 

"Level six," the robotic voice of the Castle tells him.

He grimaces and wipes the sweat on his forehead before it can drop into his eyes. For once, he doesn't want to be training, but if he's not doing something, then he'll start thinking. He doesn't like to think about Earth too much.

"Level seven," the voice calls out. 

It's his birthday, but Shiro is the only one who knows. He didn't go around advertising that it was approaching, because he doesn't want to celebrate it. Something about celebrating on his own feels wrong.

He has four brothers, a sister, and a dozen aunts and uncles who would all show up to the manor to celebrate his birthday, and now he only has Shiro. Of course, Shiro is the best friend, near-brother, that Keith could ever ask for, but it isn't the same. He hates that he feels that way, but he can't help it.

"Level eight."

Keith remembers his first birthday at the manor better than all of the rest. 

He had been awfully confused because he'd never celebrated his birthday before. He could faintly remember his father singing him a song that he could barely recall, but that was all. After being put in an orphanage, Keith never really celebrated his birthday again. 

But then he was turning nine, and Bruce insisted that they had to celebrate. He asked what Keith wanted, and he had no idea what to say, because he'd never known that he could just ask for things and get them simply because he  _wanted_ them. 

_They held the party in the yard of the manor, as the weather was particularly mild for the fall. Dick and Tim both made sure to show up early, and Keith was convinced Bruce invited everybody he knew. Clark showed up, Diana showed up, Barry and Iris, half the League was there. Tim had invited Kon and Bart, and Dick had invited Wally and Donna._

_Keith had no idea what to do with himself for the first hour. Everyone looked like they were having a grand old time, eating the food Alfred had made and playing games, but Keith didn't know what to do. He didn't really know anyone other than Bruce and his brothers, and those he did know from passing were too intimidating for him to approach._

_He was hiding away and stuck close to the edges, nibbling on chips to give himself something to do. It was approaching the two-hour mark when something finally happened._

_Keith had been informed beforehand that everybody present was aware of who the Batman was, and everyone involved with him, so he wouldn't have to worry. Everybody there was in on who everyone was._

_So when Bart came skidding to a halt and fell into the seat beside Keith, he jumped but wasn't overly surprised._

_"Hey, kid, what's going on?" he asked, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. His leg jiggled at top speed and his eyes flickered back and forth faster than Keith could keep track._

_"Nothing," Keith replied, his voice quiet and his eyes locked on his hands. He kind of wanted to see if Bart's eyes were as golden as Tim claimed they were, but he wasn't about to look._

_"Sounds boring," Bart said, taking a loud slurp from his soda can._

_Keith glanced up at the speedster, his fingers tapping against his knees. He didn't know if he was supposed to say something there, or if Bart was going to continue, or if this conversation was just over. He wasn't good at this._

_"Wanna help me with something?" Bart asked suddenly, his eyes flicking back. Keith found their gazes locked and he kind of didn't want that but Tim absolutely was not wrong about how golden Bart's eyes were._

_“Okay,” Keith mumbled, because why not? It’s not like he had anything else to do._

_Bart smirked and his eyes glinted mischievously. “Great. Hold on.”_

_He sped away and Keith watched as a bowl and can hit the trash. Seconds later, Bart returned and fell back into his seat. He was holding a cell phone and, of all things, a water balloon._

_Keith frowned. “What’s that for?”_

_Bart smiled, showing all of his teeth. “Revenge. Timmy over there got us pretty good at the tower a few days ago, and I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to strike.”_

_“What am I supposed to do?” Keith asked. How did he fit into that?_

_“Well, you see,” Bart started, dropping the phone in his lap and wrapping his arm around Keith’s shoulders. He leaned in close, lowering his voice. “Your brother’s a shit, but he’s a smart shit, so he’s ready for me. He’d never expect you.”_

_Keith was silent for a moment before a small smile slowly stretched on his face._

_“What do you want me to do?” Keith asked, trying to hide the smile._

_Bart reached out and plopped the red water balloon in his hand. The cold from the water seeped through the rubber and sent chills up his arm._

_“This is your weapon. I don’t care how you do it, you’ve just gotta get close enough to nail him with it,” Bart explained._

_Keith nodded solemnly, his eyes narrowed and his fingers clutching the balloon as tight as he could without popping it. He received an encouraging pat on the back as he stood and made his way across the yard to where Tim stood. He was with Kon, Wally, and Donna and they were all listening to Dick tell a story with wild hand gestures._

_Keith stopped a little ways away, sticking close to a hedge. He watched as Dick made some joke that caused Wally to snort and Donna to roll her eyes. He decided that then was his best time to make a move._

_He came around the hedge, approached Tim, and came to a stop just behind him. He reached up and grabbed hold of the back of his t-shirt and tugged twice in an attempt to get his attention._

_Tim immediately turned around, and Keith cast his eyes to the ground when all eyes turned to him._

_“Keith? What’s up?” Tim asked, and Keith really dialed it up. He lowered his head a little more and scuffed the toe of his sneaker across the grass. Tim made a confused noise, and when Keith looked up with wide indigo eyes, his own eyes widened._

_Keith kept one hand on the balloon and held it behind his back while the other gestured for Tim to get closer. Even though they only had a few years between them, Keith hadn’t hit his growth spurt, so Tim still had some height on him. Tim dropped to one knee and leaned in, looking awfully confused and slightly concerned._

_“What’s wrong?” he asked, and halfway through his second word, Keith’s face cracked into a grin and he popped the balloon on the top of Tim’s head._

_Keith stepped back and admired his work, listening as Bart burst into evil cackles and the group standing around joined in on the laughter at Tim’s expense._

_And Tim? Tim just looked betrayed. He was rambling on and on about a bitter betrayal and how cold the water was and_ where the fuck did they even get water balloons in the middle of October?

_Keith couldn't help his own giggles, and Tim looked even more crestfallen._

_“How could you? Keith!”_

“Keith!”

“End training sequence,” he calls out, hiding his surprise. He spins around, his bayard still in hand, only to find Lance and Hunk standing in the doorway. “Yeah?”

Hunk glances around at the destroyed training bots but doesn’t look surprised in the least at the sheer amount of them.

“Come join us in the kitchen, there’s something we want you to see,” he says, grinning. Keith glances between Hunk and Lance but doesn’t get anything because they’re both wearing the same huge grin.

Keith’s eyes narrow suspiciously, but he still puts away his bayard and heads toward them. He follows them out of the training room and down the hall toward the kitchen, his mind racing the whole time.

“So, we were talking to Shiro yesterday,” Lance starts, turning around and walking backward as he talks, “and he told us a little something that we thought was kind of important.”

Keith raises an eyebrow. “Did he, now?”

“He did,” Hunk replies, stopping them right outside the door. “Happy birthday, Keith.”

The door slides open, revealing a room covered wall to wall in decorations. In the center near the table, Pidge and Shiro stand with Allura and Coran. A cake covered in suspiciously fluorescent frosting sits on the table in between them.

“What the hell?” Keith mutters, taking in the red party streamers and balloons. His eyes land on something sitting next to the garishly bright cake. It’s a bat. An actual stuffed bat. Dressed as Keith. A stuffed bat dressed as the red paladin.

_“What’s your favorite animal?”_ Lance had asked last night, and Keith almost laughs.

“Happy birthday, Keith!”

Keith listens to them sing, and a small smile grows on his face. But something deep in his chest burns, aches like an old wound that never healed properly. He hates himself for the way he feels.

It aches because these are his friends and his teammates, and he appreciates them more than anything, but his family isn’t here. And they won’t be.

Because he’s light years away, and they think he’s dead.  

-

Tim spends all of his time sleeping.

And it’s the strangest thing. For most of his life, or, at least, most of his life as a Wayne, he’s had multiple people on his ass about sleeping more. Now, all he does is sleep. He goes to bed at eight and doesn’t get up until noon the next day. He finds himself some food, usually stale or past the recommended date, and brings it back to his bed. He leaves his bed when he needs a drink or needs to use the bathroom, but beyond that, he doesn’t move.

He calls Bruce and tells him he’ll be taking a break, indefinitely. He’ll be going back, he just doesn’t know when. He can’t be Red Robin right now. He doesn’t have the energy, he doesn’t have the willpower. He’s not sure how well he’d do out in a situation that is usually life or death. For once, he’s decided to prioritize.

Bruce lets him go easily and tells him to take care of himself. He says that he’ll check up on him, and Tim hums his agreement, but Bruce has yet to show up. Tim isn’t really surprised.

And now it’s three in the morning, well into his third day of staying in bed. He meant to get up two days ago, and then a day ago, and then a few hours ago, but every time he tries, he just can’t do it. The idea of getting out of bed and facing the world is one of the most daunting things he’s ever faced, and he’s not sure he can do it.

He can’t face a world without Keith in it.

Tim’s stomach is growling furiously because all he’s had in the past three days is the half-empty package of crackers he’d left on his bedside table the day before. He got up a few times to relieve himself, but he avoided looking at himself in the mirror each time.

He knows he looks awful. He stays in bed, but he doesn’t sleep well. It’s fitful and full of nightmares and he wakes up crying and shouting for people who won’t be there. He doesn’t know what else he can do.

Finally, during the seventieth hour, he gets up and promises himself he’s going to take a shower. He hasn’t done it in three days, and he has reached the point that every time his hair touches his face, he cringes.

As he stands under the scalding spray of his shower, he wonders how he let it get this far. It has been weeks since Keith died, and Tim knows he isn’t okay, but he’s not sure what’s different about this one.

He’s lost people before. He’s lost Jason, Dick, Bruce, his parents, Kon, Bart, Steph, he’s lost enough people for an entire lifetime. But for some reason, this one is different. He can’t wrap his head around the idea of his brother, his genius, awkward, intense little brother being gone forever.

Tim stays under the water until it turns cold and the suds from his shampoo have long since disappeared down the drain. He stays, standing in the dim lighting of his bathroom, until each drop of water feels like a tiny pebble hitting his skin at top speed.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, but when he finally steps out, he finds himself staring straight into his own eyes. His dim, sunken in eyes.

Tim knows he should be trying harder, but he just can’t do it.

_Depression_ , a therapist he’d once gone to had said. She had told him it could’ve been an effect of any of the numerous things to happen in his life.

He didn’t go to her for very long.

Tim stares into the cold blue eyes, wondering what the hell is wrong with him. The longer he stares, the angrier he gets, and he almost puts his fist straight through the mirror. His chest heaves with fury and instead, he puts his hand through the wall. The drywall cracks under his fist and his skin breaks, but instead of covering the hole and cleaning the wound, he runs it under bitterly cold water for a few seconds and haphazardly wipes it off.

He doesn’t even try because what the hell is he even doing? He’s been lying in bed for weeks on end because he can’t stand the thought of losing yet another person, but he didn’t even try.

Tim knows that yes, this is not like all of the other times, Keith is most likely gone, and he will most likely always be gone, but Tim didn’t even try.

All of the other times, he tried. He found Bruce and he brought him back, and he tried his damndest every time he lost somebody to make it better. But this time, he just accepted that his brother was going to be gone forever.

And really, he has no idea why he’s gone and done that.

Tim’s movements are frantic and shaky as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants and grabs for his computer. He collapses onto his bed and hunches over, waiting impatiently as it starts up. His fingers tap against his thighs and his knees press incessantly against the mattress.

The second the screen turns on, his fingers are flying across the keys at lightspeed. He almost pats himself on the back for how fast he gets into the Garrison’s files. He heads straight for the files on the incident, sifting through the endless amounts of reports by anybody even relatively close by.

There are pictures and videos and reports upon reports, but nothing is out of place.

So Tim clicks on the first video. It’s awful quality, but it’s one of many, so he assumes that there must be ones that are much better. He watches as an aircraft takes off, and he almost misses the small figure in the bottom left corner. It’s tiny and mostly black but partly red, and Tim doesn’t want to think about what that is.

He clicks on a different video when that one ends prematurely and watches from a much better angle with much better quality. It shows the aircraft head on, and this time, the small figure is clearly Keith. He’s facing away from the camera, but it’s the right hair and jacket and gloves and knife strapped to the waist.

Tim doesn’t want to, and his fingers clench around the edges of his laptop until it creaks quietly, but he watches as the aircraft spirals out of control. He watches as the pilot loses control and starts to spin toward the ground.

He watches as Keith dives out of the way, but the aircraft pitches the wrong way, and crashes down onto the ground, going up in flames instantly.

He watches as his little brother dies, and he cries. Something deep in his chest cracks and he feels like he’s crumbling to pieces. He tries to breathe, but every breath tightens his chest and brings him more pain.

Tim is sure Bruce has seen these, and he doesn’t even want to think about that. He searches desperately for another angle that shows that Keith got out of the way in time, but every time, it happens exactly as they said it did.

Lance McClain crashes, Keith Kogane-Wayne dies.

He can barely see his screen through the tears pouring down his face as he hacks through every single firewall he can get his hands on. He messes up time and time again and gets himself locked out and every time he cries harder and he just wishes he could fix it all.

He wishes their lives were different, but they’re not, and Keith is gone.

Keith is really gone, and Tim tried, but it wasn’t good enough.

-

“Tim?”

Dick’s voice echoes through the apartment, coming back with no response. He hadn’t really expected one, because he’s fairly certain that Tim isn’t even home, but he still frowns.

“Timmy!” he calls out one last time, just to make sure, before sighing. He steps into the apartment and locks the door behind him, flicking the lights on.

His face immediately twists at the sight before him. It’s clear Tim has taken absolutely no time to clean up his apartment or anything of the sort because it’s even worse than Dick’s.

There are clothes strewn all over the place, a shirt hanging on one lamp and a pair of pants on the TV table and one sneaker trapped halfway underneath the sofa. Dirty dishes are on every surface, some still holding old food. Tim’s electronics are nearly covering the couch and coffee table like he hadn’t bothered to clean up last time he was deep in a case. His suit is lying on the ground behind the sofa in a haphazard pile.

Dick doesn’t like it.

He gets to work immediately. He gathers all of the clothes he can see and throws them in the laundry. He tackles the myriad of dirty dishes next, balancing a stack of bowls and cups precariously in his arms as he heads for the kitchen. He somehow manages to not drop them all and places as many as he can fit in the dishwasher.

He cleans until the apartment is nearing spotless and makes his way to Tim’s room once he’s finished. He knows Tim probably didn’t mean for it to get that bad, but they’ve all been having a rough couple of weeks, so he doesn’t hold it against him.

When Dick makes it to the bedroom, he doesn’t expect what he sees.

The curtains are all drawn, and the pile of dirty dishes and empty food packages and empty cups is even worse. His bedside tables hold tiny towers of stacked cups, a few bowls, and some empty packages. 

And right in the middle of it all, curled in a tight ball, is Tim. His computer is balanced precariously on the edge of the bed and the low battery light is flashing red. He’s clutching the pillow beneath his head in a white-knuckled grip, his face twisted in a frown. 

But he’s still asleep. Dick stares down at him for a moment, his broken heart cracking into even more pieces. Tim’s cheeks are filled with still-wet tear tracks and his eyes are swollen like he’d been crying for a long time. 

Dick knows they all miss Keith, he misses the younger boy every single waking moment, but he had no idea it had hit Tim that hard. 

With a frown, he pulls the laptop off of the edge of the bed before it can fall and brings it over to Tim’s desk, where the charger still remains plugged in. He plugs the laptop in and sits as quietly as he possibly can in the chair. He doesn’t want to wake Tim up, and he knows what a light sleeper the boy is. 

His plan is to shut down the laptop and wait for Tim to wake up, maybe play some games on his phone or organize the papers littering the desk in the meantime, but once he sees exactly what it was Tim was looking at, his entire body freezes. 

There are over a dozen windows open, something that makes Dick twitch, but the foremost window is a paused video. It’s security footage, if he had to hazard a guess without looking at the details, but it’s a view of the training site where Keith died, and Dick  _ really doesn’t want to look at this.  _

He closes the window and sifts through what Tim had been doing before he had fallen asleep. Dick’s nose scrunches when he tries to type in a command, only for his finger to slip through a wet patch. He uses his sleeve to wipe the keyboard free of tears, a frown twisting his lips. 

When he figures out what exactly Tim had been doing, his expression turns from upset to grim in a second. Tim had been trying to hack into the deepest parts of the Garrison’s files, but he had stopped short and, apparently, fallen asleep. 

Sifting through the information his younger brother had already uncovered, Dick bites into his bottom lip and continues on. He’s good, but he’s not as good as Tim, so it takes him a little longer. He works through firewall after firewall, nearly being locked out several times.

Their files are encrypted several times over and Dick almost gives in after a solid hour of work. He has no idea what exactly it is they’re trying to hide, but they’ve hidden it so far down it might as well not exist. 

But Dick isn’t going to give up, because they are hiding  _ something _ . And he’s going to find it even if it takes him all day. 

And really, it almost does. He works for four more hours, getting up several times to grab incredibly unhealthy snacks and use the bathroom. He’s chomping his way through a handful of Skittles when he finally does it. It’s incredibly anticlimactic because all it does is reveal a new file that hadn’t been there before. Its name isn’t something Dick can read, and he’s instantly suspicious.

Dick is fluent in many languages, and English isn’t even his first, so the fact that he can’t even recognize what language this is part of is signal enough that something about this isn’t right. He clicks on the file, and he chokes on a green Skittle.

The file brings up a series of reports and more security footage like the ones that Tim had subjected himself to. They’re similar, but simultaneously much different. 

Because these are the real ones. 

Dick wastes no time bringing up the first video in the bunch and pressing play. He watches the real footage, watches as the Garrison’s lies unfold right in front of his eyes. 

He watches as Keith streaks across the desert, most of his face covered. He watches as unfamiliar ships land and Keith goes inside.

He watches as Keith escapes, he watches as Keith gets out of there alive, he watches as his little brother survives. 

Dick watches and watches and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know where to go from here, how to do this, what he should even be doing now. 

But he knows one thing.

The Garrison lied. They lied and now he knows. 

And he’s going to get his baby brother back. 

**Author's Note:**

> :)
> 
> so, part two of, "the author is very tired and doesn't know where he's going with this but he's going to try anyway." i write by the seat of my pants 70% of the time, so i'll be shocked if i can actually write an outline for this series. i have some stuff written out for future parts, so expect more... i have no idea when.


End file.
